


Words That Bind Us

by AgentStannerShipper



Series: Star Trek Bingo 2020 [7]
Category: Star Trek: The Next Generation
Genre: 5+1 Things, Addiction, Canon Compliant, Episode: s01e01-02 Encounter at Farpoint, Episode: s01e11 Haven, Episode: s01e15 11001001, Episode: s01e18 Home Soil, Episode: s01e22 Symbiosis, Episode: s01e23 Skin of Evil, F/M, Getting Together, Holodecks/Holosuites, Love and Marriage, Season/Series 01, Sentience, Unhappy Ending, themes from the episodes include
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-13
Updated: 2020-08-13
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:48:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25863853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AgentStannerShipper/pseuds/AgentStannerShipper
Summary: Five times Data and Tasha had an important conversation on the holodeck, and one time they couldn't speak again.
Relationships: Data/Tasha Yar
Series: Star Trek Bingo 2020 [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1875274
Comments: 7
Kudos: 16
Collections: Star Trek Bingo Summer 2020





	Words That Bind Us

**Author's Note:**

> For the bingo prompt "holodeck/holograms." Rating for, obviously, death and also some discussion of addiction as compliant with the episode Symbiosis. I don't usually write canon-compliant character death for Tasha (clearly) but after writing a lot of fluff I needed some angst to balance it out. I hope it makes you feel things, because I felt them writing it.

1)

Data registered the sounds of violence the moment the holodeck doors slid open to admit him. He did not need his acute android senses to hear the sharp pants of breath, punctuated with sharper cries of attack, nor the sound of a body hitting the floor. He cocked his head, watching with curiosity as the chief of security grappled with her holographic opponent, another like him already disappearing from the mat. She was wearing a traditional aikido gi over her uniform, belted tightly to keep from slipping, and it was apparent from the sweat slicking her hair and skin that she had been at it for quite a while.

She flipped her opponent to the floor with a satisfied grunt, jerking her head up when she caught sight of Data in the doorway. She snapped to attention. “Commander.”

He blinked. “At ease, Lieutenant.”

She relaxed minutely. “Computer, delete opponent.” The man vanished from the mat, and Data approached her. She regarded him. “You seem confused, Commander. Is everything alright?”

“I am simply unaccustomed to the deference you have shown me,” Data told her. “Aboard the _Trieste,_ my previous posting, I rarely encountered it.”

“Because you’re an android?”

Her tone seemed curious, like she was testing the waters. It made sense; they had had little opportunity to speak since their posting on _Enterprise,_ save the initial introduction, and Data was accustomed to curiosity from his fellow officers. He shook his head. “I find that unlikely. It is more probable that, as I had served aboard the _Trieste_ for several years at that point, the atmosphere was somewhat more informal.” He left out the hearing that had been called, debating if promoting him that far was even appropriate, and the way some of his crewmates’ faces had soured when he came back with the third pip on his uniform.

“Well, maybe you should get used to it,” Lieutenant Yar said. She picked up a towel from the edge of the mat, wiping at her forehead and letting it drape around her neck. “You’re third in command around here, and you’re one of the top-ranking officers. People ought to show you a little respect.”

Data suspected the respect Lieutenant Yar was referring to and the respect he would settle for were very different things. But he didn’t say that. Instead, he glanced around, at the spartan holodeck setup, the walls still black and yellow grids, only the mat still manifested. “This seems an unusual time to engage in leisure activities.”

The lieutenant bristled. “It isn’t interfering with my duties, sir.”

Data blinked. “You misunderstand. I am not chastising you, Lieutenant. I am merely curious.”

“Oh.” Yar settled minutely. She swallowed. “Just, after Q…being frozen and all…I needed to work off some steam. I hate feeling helpless like that.”

“I see. I have observed that to be a trait common in humans.”

She gave him a wry smile, glancing over him. “Seems like it.” She rocked back on her heels. “The holodecks are nice. We didn’t have them on my last assignment.”

“Nor did I.” Not that he expected he would have utilized them much if such services had been available. On the _Trieste_ , Data had been allotted precious little free time. Still, he allowed, “They are an impressive example of technological prowess.”

“Not unlike a certain lieutenant commander.”

Data cocked his head, but the lieutenant’s grin made him inclined to believe the comment was a jest. Still, he clarified, “You are making a joke.”

She laughed. “Sorry, I couldn’t resist. I’m not exactly an expert with computers, but as security chief I have access to your specs, for training purposes.”

“To instruct security officers in deactivating me.”

Yar’s smile slipped a little. Data suspected he had made it ‘awkward’ again. “Yeah,” she said softly. She cleared her throat. “Anyway, it’s impressive. You and the holodeck. Of course, the holodeck doesn’t do so well at making people that think, but you know.”

Data nodded. “I believe I understand.” He had learned enough about human interaction to know that ‘diffusing the situation’ was required. “Have you had a chance to utilize any of the programming aside from the aikido?”

“A little. There’s a popular Earth forest setting I’ve been looking at to hold training exercises in. It’s gorgeous, absolutely like the real thing.” She shed her gi, letting it fall to the mat, and called out, “Computer, run program Delta two.”

The mat – and the rest of the aikido program – shimmered and vanished, replaced abruptly by lush greenery. In the distance, Data could hear artificial bird song and the bubbling of a stream. He looked around, nodding shortly. “I can see why the crew might appreciate this setting. It does appear idyllic.” He glanced back to the lieutenant, who was watching him. She looked away swiftly, and Data frowned. “Is something wrong, Lieutenant?”

She blushed. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to stare. It’s just…your service record is impressive. I’ve seen the list of honors you’ve received. All things considered, I guess I expected you to be…I don’t know, a little more…superhuman?”

“You are referring to my enhanced abilities.”

“Well, no,” Yar allowed. She crossed her arms over her chest – a typically defensive posture. “I’ve seen what you can do. The strength and the intelligence and all. Most people would get a big head over it.”

Data frowned. “I do not understand how cranial circumference correlates with strength. As for intellect, it is a common misconception that the size of the head has a significant impact on mental prowess or brain capacity.”

She laughed. “That’s not what I mean. It’s an expression. Like…full of yourself.” She winced as Data opened his mouth again, cutting him off. “Another expression. What I’m trying to say is, most people who have your level of ability would have egos to match.”

“Like the augments of the Eugenics Wars.”

“Exactly. You seem a lot more…grounded. Metaphorically speaking.”

Data gave a nod of acknowledgement. “I have a fair assessment of my abilities. However, unlike the augments, I am not programmed with a sense of ambition. Aside from my work, the only thing I aspire to is furthering my humanity.”

A slow grin spread across Yar’s face. “Really?”

He cocked his head. “You sound surprised.”

“I guess I am.” She didn’t stop smiling, and she didn’t uncross her arms, but her posture loosened a little. “You’re not at all what I was expecting, Commander. In a good way, I mean.”

Data wasn’t sure he understood what that meant, but he let it be. “I am glad I measure up to your standards.”

“And I’m sure you’ll end up surpassing them.” She was still looking at him, a strange sort of fondness in her eyes. It was uncharacteristic from someone Data had interacted with so little – or frankly, even someone who interacted with him often – but the lieutenant was to serve on the bridge with him, as part of senior staff. It would only serve them well to develop an affinity for each other.

Her commbadge beeped. “Security to Lieutenant Yar.”

She hit it. “Yar here.”

“Sir, you’re needed in Main Security when you have a minute.”

“I’m on my way.” She gave Data a rueful smile. “I’ll see you later, Commander. Duty calls.” It wasn’t the formal address she’d given him earlier, but Data found he preferred the familiarity from her. It felt friendly rather than dismissive. He nodded, and she turned on her heel, sauntering towards the holodeck doors, whistling softly to herself. She seemed in much better spirits than when she’d entered, and Data cocked his head, watching her with interest. When the doors slid shut again, he looked up, into the holographic canopy, and turned deeper into the forest, wandering along the riverbank. On a whim, he pursed his lips. The sound that came out was a whistle, but it wasn’t the clear, sweet melody that Lieutenant Yar’s had been. Data frowned, and tried again.

2)

Data was not capable of feeling emotions. As an android, he was not sophisticated enough for that function. However, he had to admit to a certain level of…disappointment, over the sudden canceling of Counselor Troi’s wedding. It was not that he had been looking forward to losing her – Data’s rapport with the counselor was amiable, despite their relatively infrequent need for each other, all things considered – but the ceremony, like the pre-joining dinner, would have given him a unique chance to study the social interactions of humanoids in a way he was rarely exposed to.

The holodeck was not the same, but it did provide a closer approximation than his readings on the subject.

He turned at the sound of the doors opening, followed by a surprised yelp, and watched Tasha blush, her gaze dropping to the ground before slowing rising again, looking around curiously. Data called for the computer to pause the program, and then approached her. “Is there something I can do for you, Tasha?”

She shook her head, arms folded tightly across her chest, and it was a long moment before she made eye contact with him, her attention still focused on the scene around them. “I just wanted to see what you were up to,” she said eventually. “You promised to spot me later.”

That was true, he had. It had surprised him how easily his rapport had developed with the security chief, but it had been months since he had thought of her simply as ‘Lieutenant Yar.’ It wasn’t as if he was not making other friendships on _Enterprise_ that were different from his previous postings – Geordi LaForge sprang to mind – but they had only been marginally close when the Incident had occurred. After Tasha’s sharp response, Data had expected to find himself kept at a distance. Instead, he and Tasha had gradually started spending more time together, until they often sought each other out, spending time in each other’s quarters while they worked on reports, or otherwise enjoying leisure time. Data often served as Tasha’s workout partner, even though the practice had no physical benefit for him. He considered the exercising of his social skills a more than worthy tradeoff.

“I will keep that promise,” he told her. “However, I knew you had other things to attend to first, so I chose to examine a current fascination of mine.”

Tasha cast another glance around the room, raising her eyebrows at the plethora of naked figures, all still frozen with the program. “I’ll say.”

“After the counselor’s wedding was called off, I found I had an interest to study Betazoid bonding ceremonies in more depth,” Data explained. “Fortunately, the holodeck had a program with a traditional design.”

“I can see that.” Tasha had her lips pressed tight together, failing to suppress a smile. She did that often, Data had noted, as if smiling was not something that came entirely naturally to her. He found he could relate. She wandered over to one of the figures, examining the woman with mild curiosity. Like all the others, she was completely naked, save for the dramatic arranging of her hair. Traditional Betazoid hairstyles, Data had discovered, were often lavishly elaborate, and even more so for significant events. “It all seems so strange,” she said softly, taking a step back to look around the rest of the room, at the glassplate chimes and the flower garlands winding from pillar to pillar. “All this…ceremony around something like this.”

Data cocked his head, brow furrowing slightly. “Strange in what way?”

Tasha blinked, glancing back towards him and blushing faintly again, as if she had almost forgotten his presence. “There’s not…really a concept of marriage on Turkana,” she said after a moment. “Family ties are a lot looser. There’s this expectation that at any moment, you might break away from whatever unit you’re with. There were the gangs, of course, and those were for life, but it wasn’t…the initiation ceremonies aren’t really the same.” She looked at the ground, her hands balling into fists at her side, her fingers fidgeting. “The only other thing we had like it was a sort of…ownership contract, I guess. The drug lords had them, to stake out which women counted as wives and which ones were just…” She swallowed hard. “I always hated the idea of getting married. For the rest of us, it wasn’t exactly ownership like the drug lords owned people, but it was still…” She shook her head. “I was never going to put myself through that if I could help it.”

“You are no longer on Turkana,” Data said. He attempted to make his voice gentle, less of his natural tone, which had often been described as too cold and clinical.

He was not certain he succeeded, but it appeared to be the correct thing to say, because Tasha smiled at him. Her eyes were a little wet, and she blinked quickly, pushing away the representation of her distress. “Of course,” she said, and her voice was steady, if a little strained. She cleared her throat, looking away again. “Things are so different here. I can’t imagine celebrating a wedding like this.”

“Nor can I,” Data admitted. “My modesty programming prevents me from going unclothed in public. I am not certain I could circumvent it even if it was culturally appropriate.”

A laugh burst out of Tasha, and she covered her mouth, grinning at him from behind her hand. “I’m sure you’re not the only one,” she said. “The captain didn’t look at all thrilled at the prospect. Although that could have just been the way Deanna’s mom was coming on to him.”

“Inquiry. ’Coming onto him’?”

“Flirting,” Tasha clarified. “Especially when it’s done forcefully.”

“I see.” Data gave a nod of acknowledgement. “Mrs. Troi does appear to have a forceful personality. It is extremely intriguing to watch her interact with others.”

“Yeah, you looked like you were having fun at dinner the other night.” Tasha grinned. She took a seat on one of the holographic benches, stretching her legs out in front of her and drumming her fingers against the artificial stone.

“I am rarely invited to such social occasions.” He took a seat beside her. “I am curious. Now that you are not on Turkana, and the circumstances surrounding marriage are no longer the same, would you contemplate forming such a union?”

Tasha looked surprised at the question, but she gave it due consideration, leaning back on her hands. “I don’t know,” she said eventually. “Maybe. If it was with the right person.” She gave Data a sidelong glance. “Would you?”

He tipped his head, almost regretfully. “I am not certain the question applies to me. It would require a person who is not averse to my android nature, preferably in a romantic context. Additionally, my legal status in the Federation is unclear enough that there may be no official recognition of any such ceremony.”

“But if you could,” Tasha pressed. “If there was…someone. And you could do it. Would you want to?”

“Yes.” It was an easy answer. He looked at Tasha, who was watching him with curiosity, and something else he could not identify. Her eyes were very blue, he noted, the artificially simulated light of Betazed’s sun tinting them an unusual shade of her natural coloring.

He had intended to say more, to explain the rationale, but something stopped him. Instead, he said, “If you would like to go to the gym now, I can continue my study another time.”

Tasha shook her head. “It’s alright. You can finish up here. Watch the ceremony.”

Data stood, and then offered, “You are welcome to stay.”

Tasha hesitated. For a long moment, Data almost anticipated an acceptance. But then she shook her head. “No, it’s fine. I’ll see you in a little while, okay?” She stood, reaching out and squeezing his arm briefly, and then made for the holodeck doors, her pace brisk, her shoulders tense. Data watched with confusion, but he could not form a conclusion. Eventually, he called for the holodeck to resume the program, and watched the artificial people laughing around him.

3)

Data was in his quarters when he got the call from Tasha. “Commander, you’re needed in Holodeck Four. It’s urgent.” It would have been too human of him to say that fear climbed in his throat, but after the way the day had gone, something not unlike panic rose in him, and he was on his feet, striding down the corridor towards the requested destination without a second thought to it, his pace increasing briskly as he went. He entered the holodeck, where Tasha waited, dressed in her usual Starfleet-issued workout gear – a yellow-edged tank top, shorts, and sneakers – her arms folded across her chest. She did not appear to be in any distress.

Data regarded her, coming to a stop as the holodeck doors closed behind him. “Your message indicated it was urgent.”

“It is.”

He looked around. “What is the problem?”

“You.”

He blinked. “I do not understand.”

Tasha unfolded her arms, clasping them behind her back instead. “Commander Riker tells me you’re putting in for additional shifts on the bridge.”

“That is correct.”

“Why?”

Data started to answer, and then stopped. He looked away. “You are already aware of the reason.”

Tasha nodded. “Because of the situation with the Bynars.” She took a step towards Data, reaching out for him. He looked down when her hand touched his arm and rested there. “That wasn’t your fault, and you know it.”

“It is irrelevant.” Data stepped away from her touch. There was no program running in the holodeck, just black cut through with yellow lines. In his uniform, Data almost looked as if he could be a part of it. Another piece of technology, designed to function for the ship. He did not meet Tasha’s eyes. “If I have learned anything from recent events, it is that I have a purpose, and straying from that purpose is dangerous.”

“What are you talking about?” Tasha’s voice was incredulous.

“When we first met, we spoke of the augments of the Eugenics Wars,” Data told her. “About their ambition, and how dangerous it was for the human race.”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

Data clenched his jaw. Was this frustration? He grit out. “It is dangerous for me to attempt to seek diversions. When I joined the captain on the holodeck a few weeks ago, that left two of the senior officers trapped, unable to assist the ship. It was inappropriate. And today, I was more interested in pursuing my own pleasure than attending to the needs of the crew. If I had been more attentive, perhaps the captain and Riker would not have been in danger in the first place.”

“You can’t blame yourself for-“

“Tasha,” Data interrupted her. She stared, and Data could understand why. It was unusual for him to cut someone off like that. But he felt it was important. More gently, he said, “We have now seen what happens when someone with my programming is more interested in personal gain than in assisting humanity. I do not wish to become like that.”

Understanding dawned in her eyes, and some of the tightness, the fighting stance, left Tasha’s body. “This is about Lore.”

It was difficult to deny. “If I had taken him as a warning, perhaps today might not have happened as it did.”

“It was fine, Data,” Tasha told him. She stepped towards him again, halting when Data this time stepped away. Across the distance, she murmured, “You’re not Lore. You’re nothing like him. You’re kind and caring. You’re a good friend, to me, and to Geordi, and to everyone who gets to know you. You’re so…so willing to trust. All you want to do is help people. Lore was...malicious. He seemed to take _pleasure_ in hurting people. In hurting you.” Tasha swallowed hard. Her arms tightened around herself again. “There’s a big different between that and wanting to spend a little time for yourself. Lore wanted to break things, but you…you were just trying to see if you could create something. Something beautiful.”

Data stared at the floor, full of an impulse he didn’t understand. Quietly, he asked, “Why did you call me here?”

“I don’t have the authority to deny your request. If you want to take extra shifts, that’s up to you, Riker, or the captain. _But_ -“ In his periphery, he could see her smiling at him. “In the meantime, I can make sure you’re not just sulking in your room, doing reports or planning duty rosters or something. You’re allowed to have _fun_ , Data. It’s good for you.” She took a step back, spreading her hands. “So come on. I’ve got two hours of holodeck time, and you’re going to join me. After that, Geordi wants to give painting another crack. He thinks you’re on to something.”

Data lifted his head, staring at her. She stared right back, eyebrows raised, her posture firmly rooted. Data had seen that look on her many times, and when it appeared, he had never once known Tasha to budge. Somehow, it made the desire in him to stay all the easier to give in to. He tilted his head. “Why are you doing this?”

“Because you’re our friend,” Tasha told him. Her expression softened, and she smiled, just a little quirk of the lips. “We want to make you happy.”

“I cannot feel happiness,” he told her. “That is beyond my programming.”

“Maybe,” Tasha allowed. “But you liked painting, didn’t you?”

“It was enjoyable.”

“And you like spending time with me? With Geordi?”

He nodded.

“Then isn’t that enough?”

There was a hopefulness to her voice that surprised Data, but he believed he understood. He recalled their conversation about weddings, about the contractual nature of them. He had not explained his reasonings then, but he understood them. So he understood what it was to desire someone else’s happiness. It was not a feeling, perhaps, but the desire was intrinsic. Data’s positronic net had become used to Tasha’s presence, but it had also gotten used to bringing her joy. The absence of either would be equally devastating to his systems.

“Very well,” he said at length. “You may choose a program. I will participate.”

“Oh, no,” Tasha grinned. “You’re picking. You’re supposed to be quite the creative now. I want to see what you come up with.”

4)

“You, you could probably do this just as well in one of the science labs.”

Data looked over, returning Tasha’s smile as she sauntered over to him, peering over the lab system he had materialized. “Perhaps,” he allowed, “but the holodeck systems allow for a much more advanced analysis. I can control the rate at which I view development, and speed or freeze it as required.”

Tasha studied the bell jar, a perfect replica of the crystalline structure they’d returned to the surface of Velara III just hours ago. “It really is beautiful.”

“The complexity of the structures is astonishing,” Data agreed. He could not keep the wonder from his voice. Starfleet had encountered unusual forms of life before – the silicon-based Horta, for example – but this was different. This wasn’t merely intelligence in a race of individual creatures, but a vast, collective intelligence, the likes of which had never been encountered in inorganic life before. It was an awe-inspiring discovery, and it would have been untruthful to say he was immune.

Rather than take the other stool, Tasha hopped up onto a free space on the lab bench, kicking her legs, fingers curled around the edge to keep her balance. “So, did you agree with them?”

He cocked his head. “In what respect?”

She grinned. “Well, it just seemed to me like you though some of their assessment of humanity had merit.”

Data raised his eyebrows. “If you are referring to their belief that humanity is under-developed and warlike, I would be inclined to disagree, although I can understand why they would draw such conclusions.”

“Actually, I was referring to their form of addressal.”

He blinked, sitting up straighter on his stool. “As I explained to the captain, you are in essence containers comprised largely of water. It is not inaccurate.”

“I suppose you’re going to say we’re ugly too, huh?”

Her tone was clearly teasing, but Data was still somewhat taken aback. He glanced at the generated image of the crystal, then back to the flesh-and-blood Tasha sitting beside it. “Tasha…you are aware I find you aesthetically appealing, correct?”

Her eyebrows shot up, mirth taking over her features. She opened her mouth, and then closed it again, finally shaking her head, a hint of a laugh in the words as she said, “Yeah, I…I’m pretty sure you’ve mentioned that at least once.”

“The microbrains, like most species, appear to have a narrow sense of aesthetics. I am not limited in that way. I find their form beautiful, but I also find humanity beautiful.”

“I know, I know.” Tasha said. “Everything’s pretty to you.” There was an edge to her voice, but it was softened with affection. She glanced at him, then stared at her knees, feet kicking absently. “You’re beautiful too, you know.”

“I am gratified that you think so.”

They both went quiet. The holodeck was still running the simulation, based on the information they had been able to gather, and the simulated microbrains pulsed with light, shining like a beacon under their bell jar. They both watched it, and after a minute, Tasha said, “I’ve seen you get excited over so many things, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen you like this.”

“Like what?”

She swallowed audibly. Her voice was soft when she said, “When we discovered that the microbrains might be alive…you were…incandescent.”

Data cocked his head. “I do not believe I emitted any unusual light.”

“You did,” Tasha told him. “Trust me.” She wet her lips, hesitating before she continued, “There was something about your eyes…this pure…joy on your face, like you’d just discovered something amazing.”

“Inorganic life is an incredible discovery,” Data pointed out. “It is scientifically significant.”

“So it’s not personal at all?”

“I did not say that.”

She looked at him, head tilted curiously. He hesitated, and then rested his hands on the lab bench, folding them together as he sought the best way to explain. “Officially,” he said, “I am classified as an artificial life form. Even that has been greatly contested, whether I should qualify as living at all. After all, I cannot reproduce in any traditional sense of the word. I do not grow. It is debatable if I develop in any significant way. The questions of whether or not I should be considered _intelligent_ life, _sentient_ life, are even more contested.”

Tasha snorted. “If anyone thinks you aren’t intelligent, they need to have their brain checked.”

It was a nice sentiment, but it had little bearing on reality. “Still, the question remains.” His gaze fell to the crystal, so recognizable on the surface, but beneath it so alien. “Every time the definition of life is challenged, every time we find something that appears intelligent but does not fit with our traditional classifications of life, that is significant. And yes, it is significant to me as a scientist, but it is also personal. It gives me hope that, perhaps someday, my status will no longer be worthy of debate. I will simply be accepted, as I am.”

It startled him when Tasha’s hand seized his, covering and squeezing hard. “I want that for you,” she said, and her voice was equally fierce, the intensity equally surprising to him. “And I…I’m sure I’m not the only one. You’re amazing, Data. Just the way you are.”

He could have pointed out that he, like anyone else, was in many ways eternally changing. That he strived to be better than what he already was. But he did not say that. He understood the sentiment. He turned his hand over, lacing his fingers between Tasha’s on an impulse. It was her turn to look surprised, her eyes widening, but she didn’t pull away. Carefully, Data said, “I do not wish you to misunderstand me, Tasha. When I say that humanity is aesthetically appealing to me, this is a factual statement. Equally, it is true when I say I find you beautiful too. But these statements are not casually linked. I do not find you beautiful because you are human. I find you beautiful because you are Tasha. Your kindness, your acceptance of me, and your friendship are all things that contribute as much to this as your physical attractiveness.”

Tasha was scarlet. Her mouth hung open, and it was several seconds before she found words to speak. “I…thank you. You’re sweet, Data.”

“You are my friend.”

“Right.” She nodded, and squeezed his hand again before letting go. “I’ve got to get back to work. Enjoy…enjoy your study.”

She was halfway to the door when Data called out, “Tasha?” She paused and turned back. Data hesitated. “Have I upset you?”

She looked to the floor, laughing a little as she shook her head. Data was not an expert by any means, but he could not hear the humor in it. “No,” she said quietly, almost too quietly for a human to hear.

“Do you not consider me a friend?” He had thought…but then, Data still struggled to interpret human action.

“No!” Tasha’s protest came immediately, and she shook her head. “I mean, yes, of course, I think of you as a friend.” She offered him a tiny smile. “It doesn’t matter. It’s nothing.”

“It appears significant to you.”

Tasha shrugged. Her smile was regretful. “Some things…aren’t ready to be shared yet. Maybe someday.”

It was cryptic, offering no further clues, but it was all the explanation she gave. Data looked back to the microbrain, still gleaming with light, bigger now than it had been when Tasha walked it. “Computer,” Data said, “reset simulation to time index two zero four.” The microbrain hologram disappeared, replaced by its earlier iteration, and Data regarded it as it repeated the stages of growth. Somehow, it didn’t clarify anything.

5)

Data found Tasha under a tree. Admittedly, it was not a real tree, and she was not difficult to find, but he approached her with caution nevertheless. Even from a distance, he could see her fingers twitching, trembling against her thigh until she balled her hand into a fist, her head hanging and her knees tucked to her chest. Data couldn’t imagine she was overly comfortable. The ground was wet, and he himself was wading through thick, murky water, with roots from the vast forest of twisted tree trunks creeping out to trip unsuspecting travelers, vines slithering like snakes through the canopy and the water. Tasha was perched on one of the thicker roots, her back against the trunk of a tree, and she only looked up when the sound of Data sloshing through the swamp water approached. He came to a stop a few feet away, cocking his head at her. “Are you preparing training exercises?”

She blinked at him. “What?”

He took a seat, gingerly, on the end of the root, aware that the backs of his pant legs would still be getting damp beneath him. “I have never seen you utilize this program before. Are you arranging new training exercises for the security department?”

Tasha shook her head. She wrapped her arms around her knees, pulling them in tighter. “No. No training exercises. I just…needed to clear my head.”

“And you chose this program?” It was designed, as far as Data could tell, off one of the great swamps of Capus Prime, but nothing in his memory indicated why Tasha would have an affinity for the planet.

She shrugged. “It…reminds me of home.”

Ah. Data had read much of what was available on Turkana IV. Which, frankly, wasn’t very much at all. But he knew a great deal of the planet was comprised of swamps, included the outskirts of Turkana City, where Tasha would have grown up. Carefully, he said, “You often appear distressed when recalling your childhood on Turkana IV. I am at a loss for why you would willingly choose to recall it now.”

Tasha snorted, looking down at her knees again. “Kind of hard not to.”

“Because of the circumstances with the Ornarans.”

Her fists tightened, knuckles visibly whitening. “That obvious, huh?”

“Not to anyone aside from myself. I do not think even Wesley understood that you were speaking from experience.”

She didn’t make eye contact with him. Data thought he understood. Their mission to Treva had been a complicated one in many respects, but it had fostered an additional layer to the intimacy they had already shared. Data was not certain Tasha would have admitted her childhood of addiction otherwise.

“It’s unthinkable to most of them,” she murmured. “The idea that someone could be born craving a drug…addicted from the time they were a child…none of them will ever be able to understand what the Ornarans are going through right now. What their children are going to endure.” She shuddered. “If Yar hadn’t been so insistent that joy dust was nothing more than a trap, I don’t know where I’d be today.”

Her tone gave Data a fairly good idea. The answer did not bear thinking about.

He reached out, touching her ankle gently, running his thumb carefully over the swell of bone, over the hem of her pants. He touched Tasha more frequently these days, in response to the same behavior from her. It was an interesting form of affection, one that he had noted many of his other crewmates engaging with him as well. But aside from Geordi, Tasha was the only one he was compelled to touch back, and the two impulses were distinctly different. She looked up at the feeling of his hand, her eyes meeting his. She smiled faintly. “Captain Picard did the right thing. The Ornarans will suffer, but in the long run they’ll be better for it. That’s no way to live your life, always chasing the next high. It makes everything else seem unimportant by comparison.” Her eyes drifted down, to where his hand was still on her, and affection came into her eyes. “There’s so much you miss out on, otherwise.”

The words held significance, a clear weight to the way Tasha said them, and Data looked down, removing his hand and folding them carefully in his lap. Diplomatically, he said, “I am not certain I can speak to it. I am not programmed to exhibit addiction behaviors. I do not think I could understand the plight of the Ornarans any better than the rest of the crew.”

“Maybe not,” Tasha allowed, “but that’s alright.” She hesitated. “Data…”

“Yes?”

She shook her head. “Never mind.” Data did not watch her directly, instead studying her distorted reflection in the rippling, muddy waters. He watched her face contort, distress visible. “I haven’t shared much of anything about Turkana with anyone else,” she said softly.

“But you speak to me about it.”

“I feel…better, when I talk to you.”

Data hesitated. He still had very little frame of reference for human interactions. It was possible that if he overstepped, his friendship with Tasha would crumble. He was not certain he could risk that. And yet, he could not fight the compulsion to speak, as if one of his subroutines had become locked in the on position without his intent. “Tasha…may I make an observation?”

She met his gaze. “Always.”

“We appear to be…uniquely suited to one another, in many ways.”

“That’s…probably true.”

He tilted his head. “Please forgive me if this oversteps in any way, but I have found myself…growing extremely fond of you, in ways I had not anticipated. Given some of your reactions, I have come to the conclusion that…it is possible…you feel similarly.” He hesitated. “I…do not wish to presume-“

“You can presume.” Tasha’s voice barely rose above a whisper. She started to speak again, stopped, and then managed, “I…tried not to. But…” She let out a small, dark laugh. “You’re too lovable for your own good, Data.”

“You may be the only one who thinks so.”

“Maybe,” Tasha said. She uncurled herself, letting her feet down to rest in the water, on either side of the root. “Or maybe I’m just the only one willing to admit it.”

Data raised his eyebrows. “Then I am correct? You have an affinity for me?”

Tasha snorted, more to herself than to him. “Yeah. I like you. Not…not just as a friend. No matter how much I wanted to deny it, it always seemed to come back to that.” She gave him a curious look. “You told me once that, if it was an option, you could see yourself getting married. You never really said why.”

“There are many reasons.” He looked to his hands in his lap, turning them over. “The concept appeals to me. The idea of expressing a public commitment, to indicate your intent to provide happiness to a person you care for as long as you both exist…there is an unusual power to it. I am aware that traditionally, weddings of many cultures are contractual in nature, but what they have come to symbolize, that concept of love…I find myself wishing to experience that.”

“You want to love.”

“In every way I am capable of,” Data confirmed.

Tasha smiled. “I think that might be more ways than you give yourself credit for.” She went silent a moment, and then said, “I’ve never much been one for relationships. They always seem to go wrong, or get messy. I learned a long time ago that you can only ever count on yourself.” She hesitated. “But.” She reached out, and Data shifted to meet her, letting her thread her fingers through his, connection that sparked through his neural circuitry as surely as if he’d touched a live wire. Softly, she said, “Sometimes. I think about what it might be like to try again. With someone I really cared about.”

Data’s vocal program stuck a moment. “You are referring to me.”

“Yeah. I think I am.” Tasha leaned in, and then hesitated. Data could feel her breath against his skin, watched her eyes searching his. But in this respect, at least, his programming was thorough. He tilted his head, closing the last few inches of space between them. Tasha’s breath caught, her lips soft against his as she closed her eyes, her hand curling around the back of his neck.

It was a pleasant sensation. Data was almost sorry when it broke. Almost, because Tasha was smiling, resting her forehead against his. “That was nice.”

“I concur.”

“Want to do it again?”

He nodded, and Tasha fisted the front of his uniform shirt, dragging him in a second time, her lips firmer against his, insistent, pressing closer until a wrong move made her yelp, both of them tumbling into the water as her footing slipped. She laughed as she sat up, shaking water and mud from her hair. “Sorry,” she said ruefully, grinning as Data blinked at her. “I guess I got a bit carried away.”

“No apologies are necessary.” Data reached out, attempting to wipe a smear of mud from her cheek. All he succeeding in doing was spreading it further.

She took his hand. “Computer, end program.”

The swamp vanished. They were sitting, quite dry, on the floor of the holodeck. Tasha stood, tugging him up with her. “Come on. My quarters will be a lot more comfortable.”

Data cocked his head. “Then, you no longer feel the desire to be reminded of home?”

Tasha grinned at him. “Didn’t you just here me? Where do you think we’re going?”

She tugged on his hand, and Data found himself smiling too, allowing himself to be pulled from the holodeck, savoring the feeling of her warm hand in his.

+1)

There was an adage about ‘wishful thinking’ which Data was familiar with. The phrase ‘be careful what you wish for.’ Data had always been fascinated at the prospect of meeting new life forms, ones who defied knowledge and understanding. He had told Tasha as much.

He now regretted those words.

The holodeck sky was clear, the meadow stretching on as far as the eye could see, full of wildflowers and that one gray and white base, resting at his feet. It was a cheerful setting. Better, at least, than the desolate planet below. Better than the wasteland home of a creature who should not have been alive, in all meanings of the phrase. Data did not relish death. But he thought, privately, if there had been a way to kill Armus, not to simply leave him behind on Vagra II, it would not have gone against his programming to do so. He might even have enjoyed it.

The previous night, he had been in Tasha’s bed. Not for any particularly suggestive purpose, but simply because Tasha said she slept better when he was there. She had been happy, looking forward to the martial arts competition, shining in a way that was not tangible, but Data somehow understood. He had held her in his arms, and felt something.

He would not hold her again.

There was another expression, about the unfairness of life, and the apparent cruelty of the universe. Yesterday, Data would have said that life could be neither fair nor unfair, simply a fixed series of probabilities, and that as a non-sentient concept, the universe could neither be cruel nor kind. But that was yesterday.

He could not cry. He was not capable of that. And despite what he had read about grief, Data was not certain he would have cried, even if he were capable. There was no feeling in him now. Just a sense of emptiness, sinking into his frame as surely as if a weight were pressing down on him. He opened his mouth, thinking perhaps there was something to say, and then he closed it again. Tasha would not hear it. She was not buried beneath this ground, and the holographic version of her had disappeared, unable to respond. There was no logic in saying anything to one who would not hear it. And Data found that he had nothing to say, knowing Tasha could not answer.

_Death is that state in which one exists only in the memory of others. Which is why it is not an end._

Picard paused on the edge of the holodeck. He called out. “Mr. Data?”

Not enough time. Data had known, with Tasha being human, that theirs would be finite. But he had expected more than this.

He looked up at his captain, waiting expectantly for him. They were due back on the bridge. They had their duty, after all. They were there to serve.

Data took a step towards him, and then another, feet carrying him towards the captain. Away from Tasha. Walking away from her one last time.

Picard gave him a small smile as Data drew level with him, and understanding that Data was not certain he deserved. He swallowed hard. “Captain?”

“Yes, Mr. Data?”

“Would it be possible to make a holoimage of Tasha’s final message? For…for personal use.”

Picard’s face softened. Data didn’t know why, but it brought the weight down more against him. “Of course, Mr. Data. Of course.”

Data nodded, and the captain ushered him along gently, towards the holodeck doors. Data supposed this was the part where he should have looked back. That was the human thing to do, wasn’t it? But what did it matter? There was nothing left for him here.


End file.
